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The red on the page is my blood, the blue that runs across it is the death of my love, and the white that remains is the battleground yet to be stained by the ink that symbolizes my pain. In other words, I write to fight to live to breathe in to deal with the shit that kicks my teeth in and this life I lead bleeds rhymes cut by lifetimes of struggling against my own mind. I’m known to rock the mic like a man slept on, pushed aside and stepped on
Who crept on while niggas yawned in hours predawn and spit flames that left mics burning on lawns with the words ‘be out before dawn’ still warm sick raps induced by the klan and Exxon, cause when the son’s on it’s on, even cats with their guns drawn be drawn to raps that gun charm. Forearms - disarmed my raps snatch your snake / firearm right out your palm and expose you for the pawn you are I mean we are I mean this shit’s gone too far y’knamean put the guns down or we could start a land-war with the landlords after sundown this is my town, that’s what I’d be yelling as I start putting cracks in the landlord’s melon, you can bet I’d give that ass a good swelling, cause it seems to me that there just seems to be something right about people rebelling in the middle of the night, I delight in the sight of greedy people griped with fright, white collar birthright burned right. The winning of a new beginning grinning through ashes and firelight





(hook)
I spit rhymes that transform minds to guns and bust shots till the blood of the banner runs. Coming down washing our chains away
Born again American emcee and deejay





As far as I know brothers I know ain’t rolling in dough but we’re still nice with the flow like Bolo Yeung beating niggas hand solo till they speaking in tongues, I’ll reach in my lung and let you taste the tar where I’m from. It’s land of the unsung where even cops salute you not with hands but with 21 from guns. Like Amadou slew for being black after curfew by Jim Crow’s little boys in blue. This America my beloved but if it was on life support I’d black glove it. unplug it, pillow love it, here comes the flashback of when they lashed backs I think you get the gist of it. this is the hist that I keep in my chest deep in my chest like blood and fire inked on my chest, I was scarred by the beef between the east and the west, hand over fist companies making money off of our death. And it’s the same thing, even in these days, the more people that want a job the less that job pays but the more people that want a home the more they have to pay sounds to me like people like me get . . .screwed either way. And one day, huh, you can believe, the people will give back some of the shit that they’ve received. We’ll roll up with fists thrown up, ain’t nothing funny, and still don’t nothing get redistributed but the money. But until then I’ll organize and kick rhymes that mind bend for minds trying to redesign trends. Cause it’s a crazy situation cats are facing across the nation with out justification, laid-off from corporations, students dropping out because they can’t afford the cost of education, and we’re about to bomb another nation just so we can flex and make some money at the gas station, (and the list goes on (x?))

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from Blood and Fire, released September 1, 2004

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Son of Nun Baltimore, Maryland

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